


Bee

by theficisalie



Series: Runaway Scars [7]
Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 05:57:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theficisalie/pseuds/theficisalie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pull the trigger or prepare to die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bee

**Author's Note:**

> beta: [kazzbot](http://kazzbot.livejournal.com)

_“And you’re sure about this one, Korse?”_

_“Yes, ma’am. Didn’t you see how well he did?”_

_“I saw hesitation, Korse.”_

_“That’s what you said last time, wasn’t it?”_

_“And I’ll say it every time until you give me one that doesn’t flinch before the first hit.”_

_“We will get rid of his hesitation, ma’am. Don’t worry. I’ve been with the Doctors, and they all say the same thing.”_

_“And what is that, Korse?”_

_“We can wipe out their hesitations and emotions and leave the reflexes behind.”_

_“Take away their humanity?”_

_“Yes.”_

_“Good.”_

* * * *

Wake up, soldier. You are a valuable asset to our city. You are our first line of defense. Please proceed into the hall and await further instructions.

Thank you, soldier. Your primary directive is to stay alive. It is good to listen to instructions. Please take your pills and follow the first available Agent. An Agent will bring you to your final stage of training.

_Advancing into the next room._

“Trainee, your instructions will soon be broadcasted through the intercom.”

_#35 nodded to acknowledge that he had accepted and processed the message. The Agent nodded its head in response and exited the room._

_35 was alone._

Number 35, it is good to see that you are alive. Today will be your final day as an Initiate. If you are successful, you will be processed and advanced to Blackbird ranks.

“I am glad to see you, 35.”

_35 turned his head to look at the woman who had just entered. He smiled, hoping to elicit a similar response from Her. She merely nodded._

“You have done well. Given the information that Korse transferred to me after a month of your time here, I am not surprised.”

 _35 was pleased_. “I am glad you are pleased with my progress,” _he said._

“I have not given you permission to speak, 35,” _she snapped, eyes narrowing. She waited until he had bowed his head slightly in deference before continuing._ “Despite my disappointment with this aspect of your personality, you are a perfect candidate for Blackbird. Thus far, you have demonstrated an incredible set of reasoning and logic skills. Your reflexes are fast, you are tenacious, and you have no qualms about fighting your enemies to the death.”

_Watching an Agent’s blood spill to the floor filled 35 with a sense of pride. However, fighting the others, the citizens She brought in for training, made him uneasy. He did not voice this concern, and merely nodded._

“However, I have noted hesitation when faced with killing citizens, 35. Would you care to explain this?”

 _35 licked his lips_. “Protecting the citizens of this City is my primary directive,” _he said._

“Yes,” _She said,_ “but insurgents, 35, are a danger to themselves as well as to the safety of our City. By terminating insurgents we are able to prolong the lives of our other citizens. What do we do when faced with insurgents, 35?”

 _Terminate them. Terminate insurgents. But..._ “Insurgents are citizens,” _he said._

 _She frowned._ “Do you know what our Agents are, 35?”

“Volunteers to Better Living Industries’ many programs,” _he answered. This was something everyone knew. They protected the city, the citizens. The insurgents?_

“Agents are collected from the City’s waste, 35. Agents are insurgents.” _She snapped her fingers and a door slid open. Ten Agents marched in, armed with automatic laser rifles. They stood around the room, blocking any exit. With their guns, they could decimate him easily. He shifted his weight into a fighting stance. Korse walked in next, followed by a tall, willowy man with brown hair in a lab coat. A Doctor._

“Which one of these Scarecrows is the slowest, Korse?” _She asked, black eyes glittering._

_Korse was staring at 35. If 35 had been a Scarecrow, he might have showed deference to the man’s body language. But 35 had been trained to recognize Draculoid and Scarecrow languages but to respond to neither._

“That one,” _Korse said, pointing to a Crow in the corner._

“Very good,” _She said._ “Direct it to remove its mask.”

 _Korse nodded._ “Zlx 267.”

_The Scarecrow stepped forward, placing its gun on the floor before pulling off its mask._

_She retrieved the gun and tapped the Crow on the back of its neck, where 35 knew the BLI insignia was branded into its skin. The Scarecrow -- a man now, with black hair and brown eyes, dropped to its knees without blinking. Scarecrows did not show expression on their faces, but it had a face now. It was human._

_She returned to 35 and handed him the white rifle._ “Agents are insurgents. Insurgents are citizens. But insurgents must be eliminated at any cost, 35. If they cannot be controlled, Better Living Industries states that they will be terminated so that others may live. Do you understand?”

_35 nodded. The plastic beneath his hands was cold and unfamiliar. He had not been taught to use this kind of a weapon._

_She stepped back._ “Eliminate this Agent, 35, or you will be terminated.”

_He looked down at the gun. The plastic did not reflect his face. He was not even sure he still had one. He brought the gun up to his shoulder and stared down the barrel._

_The Scarecrow stared right back at him. There were no emotions in its eyes, no pleading, no desire for life._

_And yet, 35 could not pull the trigger._

_He did not want to end this Agent’s life. It had not attacked him and his life was not in danger and he did not_ want _to end this Agent’s life._

“No,” _he said, and he let the gun fall down._

“Korse, come,” _She said, her tone a warning, stepping away and away and away_. “You know the rules. Doctor Beckett, if this one survives, I want you to brand it and send it back to the streets. Let your students attempt to patch it back together, but if you fail, I will not be disappointed. I have no more use for it. Agents, this Insurgent must be terminated at any cost. Do not use your guns until it has been sufficiently broken.”

_35 blinked. The pills made him strong, made his reflexes better than the Scarecrows’, but their numbers were too many for him to take at once. With a series of quick moves, he was able to outmatch one, two, three Crows, but a lucky hit to his abdomen by a fourth made him double over. He took the fifth with him, and kicked out at the fourth, but the sixth stood on his neck as the seventh bent his left arm back until --_

The crack of bone made him reel. The pills made him strong, but ten Scarecrows were stronger.

The pills made his reflexes better than a Scarecrows’, but there were more than one coming at him at one time.

 _Frank_ , the air screamed as he choked air in past his ribs, bruised by fights past and future. He’d spilled blood on these white floors too many times to count on his broken hands and broken elbow and broken spirit.

Frank. His name was Frank. 

He saw a barrel through the dark closing in and heard the garbled speech he’d been trained to give.

The pills made him fast.

But light travelled faster.


End file.
